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Undeniably, Wylan despised every part of his father. Even before the man tried to have him killed, they never had the perfect father-son relationship.
However, there is something to be said about Jan Van Eck’s taste in mattresses. Maybe he knew a guy, or maybe it was some innate skill he possessed.
All Wylan knew was that his old bed was a fluffy marshmallow, whereas the Slat’s mattresses were comparable to hay bales. He’d always be thankful to Kaz for the room and board. Yet, he could always hope that whenever they finally got some hefty kruge, that the money would be used for some fresh mattresses.
This mattress situation efficiently kicked MorningPerson Wylan out, and birthed NightOwl Wylan. 2 a.m. was used for flute practice, sketching, and push-ups (the crows had a habit of making Wylan feel puny).
July in Ketterdam was absolutely brutal. It was true that Kaz had splurged to insulate the Slat, but that did not keep Wylan’s curls from plastering themselves to his forehead. He was tossing and turning in his bed, sheets tangled at his feet. The heat felt as if it wrapped around his body, squeezing him into a sweaty hug. Arms crossed over his bare chest, he sat straight up. Peered around the room, and thumped back onto the bed.
There were three things Wylan hoped and wished for in this moment. On July 23rd at 4 a.m. Wylan Van Eck desired a proper air conditioning unit, a soft mattress, and something cold. Most of this list was out of his hands, but if he crept quietly enough, there was potential to sneak downstairs and into the kitchen.
He pulled his feet out of their tangle within the sheet and tiptoed into the hallway. His ears strained for any noise from the surrounding rooms. The night was a silent one. Even drunks and gamblers were discouraged by the sticky, humid air. Gingerly, he made his way through the hallway, down the rickety stairs, and into the kitchen.
The faucet whined as he turned the handles. A cabinet creaked when he reached for a glass. Wylan flinched at every noise he made. Back at his father’s house, sneaking around was totally prohibited. Bedtime was 9:00 p.m. and this was never debated.
Looking back, it seemed unreasonable. That was before. The old Wylan did everything to please his father, simply to make up for his shortcomings. Now, he was different. New Wylan is able to recognize that he is enough, even with his flaws.
Glass of water in hand, he climbed onto a countertop. The smooth top was cool under his legs. A wonderful difference from his monotonously humid room. He let himself lean against the wall and relax here. Eyes heavy, water sloshing about.
This wonderful, peaceful moment was completely and totally distubed by an aggressive thumping. In his state of half-asleep, Wylan was so disoriented that he had no clue where the noise was coming from. Of course, this was until the noise came barreling through the kitchen door.
Jesper bounced into the kitchen, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Wylan had peered in his mirror earlier, and the humid air had turned him into a red face tomato. Yet, Jesper had the audacity to look like a sweat-slicked tropical god.
Wylan stared at the other boy from his perch on the counter. He wasn’t sure if Jesper had noticed him and didn’t care, or if he had no clue that Wylan was avidly staring him down.
He furrowed his brows, watching as Jesper lit the stove and slid the kettle on. The older boy pulled a glass from the cabinet, and enough coffee grounds to caffeinate an army.
He did all of this with the swagger of a crown prince and an air of normalcy that should not exist in a kitchen in the middle of the night.
At this point, Wylan was completely enthralled by this kitchen scene. He felt like an invisible audience member, watching the main character complete their everyday routine in a coming of age film. But, Coffee? At this hour?
Apparently, Wylan had voiced his concerns out loud. He watched as Jesper turned towards him in slow motion. The older boy raised one eyebrow and squinted in the low light.
“Merchling? Not past your bedtime, ay?” Jesper’s tone was cool and in command with a slight air of mockery.
Wylan could feel his cheeks going warm, but he was determined not to let anyone get to him.
“That stuff’ll kill you, y’know.” Wylan had thought moving the subject from himself was his best bet.
“Awh, I’m honored over how concerned you are for my health.” Jesper continued to maintain the smooth voice that Wylan so envied.
Wylan was sleep deprived, his father had tried to kill him, and he was sleeping on the worst mattress to ever be created. What did he have to lose?
Nothing.
At this very moment, he just wanted to throw Jepser off his rhythm. Maybe if he did, he'd fall asleep satisfied. Maybe, a flustered Jesper would knock the earth off its axis and this goddamn heatwave would end.
If only Wylan had his cards in order, and knew how to play them right.
“Why, if you died, the Crow Club would lose all its business. Simply because no one could pick easy wins off you in cards. Someone else would have to take a turn on the losing side.” Wylan did his best to hold his chin high and keep his voice steady.
Jesper cocked his head to the side, and took a step toward Wylan. His golden eyes managed to sparkle even in the dim lighting.
Wylan resisted the urge to give in, and continued his attempt in controlling the room. From his perch on the counter, he had a good view of Jesper. He had to appreciate his long legs and sly grin.
Wylan sat completely still as he watched Jesper look him up and down.
The way they looked at each other was like two lions, taking in the other as rivals. Neither of the boys considered each other a rival, but neither boy usually hung out with the other in the kitchen at 4:00 a.m. either.
After 15 seconds that felt like an eternity, Jesper shook his head and walked back towards the stove. Wylan let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.
“S’okay, merchling. I know you’d miss me if I was a goner.” The competitiveness had left Jesper’s voice and was replaced by light chuckles.
“What could possibly make you think that?” Wylan slid off the counter and crossed his arms. How big was this guy’s ego?
Jesper stirred his coffee as he spoke, “Well who would you ogle during missions then. Y’know- you can take a picture if you want.” Jesper turned to Wylan and winked.
Wylan could feel himself going red. He felt like he should be angry. Yet, that wasn’t quite what he was feeling.
“Me? Ogle You? I think the heat made you delirious.”
“If you want- you don’t have to stop at a picture. I can sign an autograph!”
“As if!”
“Oh- oh, I got it! I’ll shake your hand!”
“When was the last time you washed your hands?”
The two boys bickered back and forth. Arms waving and sweaty bodies gravitating toward each other in the suffocating heat.
Wylan was oblivious to how close he was Jesper. As if they were opposite ends of a magnet, they’d met each other in the middle of the tiny kitchen.
Jesper continued his speech about his own fame. Wylan attempted to roll his eyes back as far as they could possibly go.
It wasn’t until he rocused his vision, that Wylan noticed their proximity to each other. As he looked up at the older boy, still babbling, he felt his cheeks gain that all to familiar warmth.
“If you don’t stop running your egotistical mouth, you’ll wake Kaz up.” Wylan spoke with a cool tone he was proud of, and moved away from Jesper. He made his way back to his spot on the counter, and busied himself with his glass of water.
When Wylan looked up, Jesper stood looking down on him with a questioning look.
“Do you think Kaz has more swagger than me?”
“What?” The look Wylan shot at Jesper was completely incredulous.
“I know you heard me, merchling.”
How was Wylan supposed to answer this? No matter what he answered, Jesper would find a way to talk his ear off about it.
He didn’t find Jesper annoying, nor did he hate his wonderfully smooth voice.
Wylan envied Jespers constantly smooth mannerisms. He was never flustered. Never caught blushing.
This irked Wylan. Endlessly.
He just wanted to throw Jesper off once. If nothing else, it would confirm he wasn't some immortal God of Coolness.
Wylan flicked through the cards in his mental hand. He didn’t know a whole lot about Jesper, despite his constant talking. The most he had to go off was the way he teased Wylan, as well as the few serious conversations they had.
His mind was whirring in motion, sorting cards.
Jesper’s a Grisha, a sharpshooter, a gambler.
Wylan knew there was more.
Maybe I like your stupid face
What are the chances Jesper is all talk?
Wylan cringed, he’d probably been staring too long. Longer than socially acceptable, at least.
The air between the two boys was growing thick, no one had moved or spoken. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but heavy with intentions. Intentions that got lost in the jumble of communication.
Not a fan of silence, Jesper opened his mouth to talk again.
Wylan stopped him. He closed the gap between them by reaching down to bring Jesper’s mouth to his own.
When their lips met, it was like a wave of clarity for Wylan. A dose of relief in the tiresome summer heat.
His subconscious was rising to the surface. Passionate and greedy.
He was hungry for this high he didn’t even know he was craving.
Wylan paused, slightly unsure. What was Jesper feeling right now? Was this wrong?
“Is this okay?”
“Yes”
Wylan leaned in again, his timidness dissolving under the other boy’s touch.
Any excess nervousness was washed away when Jesper nudged Wylan’s knee with his own, asking to move closer.
Two bodies intertwined. Jesper’s hands in Wylan’s hair. Wylan’s hands exploring Jepser’s neck.
Both boys were disgustingly sweaty.
It should have been uncomfortable, or gross.
Yet, this heat was different. This heat was lit by passion that had been burning since the ice court.
Maybe since that attack on the ship, the day they were leaving Ketterdam.
Or, maybe this fire had been there, buried deep, ever since their first shared glance when Jesper had been sent to find the Van Eck runaway.
Wylan let out a soft groan as he felt Jesper’s tongue meet his lips.
He let his head fall back when Jesper’s mouth moved to his neck.
He leaned into his touch when Jesper’s hands explored down his back.
Jesper and Wylan were clay in the other’s hands.
They moved in tandem, with the rhythm of a practiced symphony.
However, when Jesper tugged at the hem of Wylan’s shirt, Wylan hissed at him.
“Not in the kitchen!”
Jesper couldn't resist letting out a laugh. But, neither could Wylan.
Maybe it was the heat making them delirious, or this resolution they had finally reached, but both boys felt euphoric.
They made their way up the stairs and down the hallway together.
Wylan may have started this, but Jesper was completely in control.
The boys laughed through kisses. Grinned as the other’s shirt was thrown aside.
They were everything, and nothing else mattered.
Wylan’s hand traced areas of Jesper he’d observed day after day, followed by his tongue.
Sheets tangled around them. Breaths were heavy as each person tried to make up for lost time.
Suddenly, Wylan leaned away from Jesper slightly and peered around.
Jesper look at him tentatively, “Wy- did I do something wrong?”
Wylan’s eyes went wide, “No, no, no definitely not!” He paused before asking,
“Do you have a nicer mattress than I do?”